Crosshair
by Sylla
Summary: There are demons everywhere, preying on humanity. And everywhere there are demons, there are those that choose to fight them. Hunters. A series of oneshots, notquite companionfic to Ice to Fire.


Before you all lynch me for starting something new instead of updating Ice to Fire, let me explain. Or at least let me get a head start so I can hide. :P Anyway, I was practicing writing descriptions of places, and, well... it kind of snowballed, as I'm sure you can see. But ragtime music is really great inspiration for writing, did you know? (In this case, Spinach Rag, from the Final Fantasy VI OST.)

So, um, if I get a good response for this I might continue; in theory it'll just be a series of oneshots and isolated scenarios not developed enough to base separate fic around; mainly OC-performed, I guess- though there'll be cameos and such from the canon characters, like in this chapter - wait, what am I telling you this here for? Read on and find out for yourself!

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Devil May Cry, or any associated characters, plotlines, etc. All I own are my OC's, and the ideas for this 'fic'._

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The inside of the bar was filled with smoke; it writhed around the heavy wooden rafters that supported the ceiling. In one corner a man at an old, slightly battered-looking piano played a lively ragtime tune, clearly audible even over the clinking of glasses and general chatter that filled the air even more than the smoke.

Two people stepped into the bar. It would be dramatic to say that all conversation stopped as the rest of the clientele slowly turned to look at them, but that is not what happened. In actual fact, the pair remained largely unnoticed. Those that did glance up to register the new arrivals didn't spend much time at all inspecting them; people, by and large, generally have more interesting things to do than study their fellow man.

"How retro," the first person, a woman, observed drily to her partner.

"I kinda like it, actually," the other, a man, replied. Then his eyes narrowed slightly. "That tap _does_ look like it hasn't been replaced since the twenties, though."

The woman chuckled softly. "You take the bar, then," she proposed. "I'll go see how many of those men are cheating at cards." Then she wrinkled her nose slightly. "I'd like to get this over with before the smell of the smoke ingrains itself too thoroughly in my hair," she added with distaste.

The man laughed at this. "You picked the wrong kinda job if you wanna be fastidious, Maria."

"I'm only as fastidious as I need to be, Zach."

The conversation over, the two parted ways and - unobtrusively - mingled with the crowd. The man walked up to the bar and inserted himself into one of the faux-leather barstools. "Beer!" he waved at the bartender.

None of the men seated at the table playing cards seemed to unhappy when the young blonde woman, leaning over to rest her hands on the tabletop, asked to join them in their game. A fair-haired man, what hair that was visible under the hat he wore almost silver-grey in the dim lighting, was the first to speak.

"You heard the lady, guys. Someone get her a chair."

There was a general rumble of agreement, and in short order a chair was found.

"Thanks, hon," the blonde woman smiled.

Meanwhile, the other man was having little luck in engaging the bartender in casual conversation

"So, I hear there's been some rumors goin' 'round here," he said easily.

The bartender grunted. Then, perceiving that perhaps this wasn't quite an answer, said: "Yeah."

The man was undeterred by the bartender's reluctance to offer up any information. "Like, real scary ones," he continued. "Folks disappearing and the like."

"People go disappearin' all the time," he bartender grunted again.

"Yeah, but I heard this was some real freaky stuff- people disappearin' and their severed heads turnin' up the next day, screams in the night, all that jazz." The man seemed unaware of the dangerous looks the bartender was now shooting him. "So, y'know anything 'bout that?" the man asked.

"Now, son." An middle-aged man in a nondescript grey suit rose from the barstool next to him. "I think you're bothering the good bartender here," he said in a slightly southern accent. "Maybe you should leave off all these questions an go someplace else." The man reached out to lay a friendly hand on the man's shoulder -

- and froze as a gunshot resounded throughout the tiny bar.

Then did all conversation stop. The man at the piano cut the song off mid-phrase, and all around people lowered their glasses to stare at the old man with the gunshot wound in his head, and the young blonde woman holding the still-smoking gun.

All was still for a moment. Then, with a noise somewhere between a hiss and a sigh, the middle-aged man's face flaked and peeled away, like cheap paint, revealing charcoal black leathery skin underneath. Then the demon slowly toppled over backwards, and crashed to the floor, only to dissolve into a puddle of dark red blood.

There were no screams. Slowly at first, then with increasing rapidity, the other customers shed their human guises, revealing a fair array of wings, fangs, claws, and balefully staring eyes.

The man whistled lowly. "More of them than we thought." Then he grinned ferally.

The woman's answering grin was just as vicious. "The more the better, I say."

"Well, c'mon then!" the man taunted. "Scared?"

The demons' response was immediate and explosive. As one they moved from whatever previous pose they had adopted, all but throwing themselves at the man and woman, claws outstretched and maws agape.

The two humans were unfazed; in less time that it would take for most normal people to blink, the man had drawn his own two guns, and began firing them with almost superhuman rapidity at the oncoming demons. The two closest fell prey to the onslaught of bullets, dissolving into a spray of blood in mid-air.

As more came, the man directed a powerful kick at the barstool in front of him, catching one of the demons full in the midriff. Then he spun out of the way as three more dived at the very spot he had been standing. The force of their attack crushed the bar stand, splintering it and raining fragments of wood on the rest of the bar.

Meanwhile, the woman was similarly occupied. As the demons came, she quickly took care of the three closest to her; two were on the receiving end of the barrel of her gun while the third was encouraged to find other interests by means of a strong kick to the head. The demon was sent somersaulting into the battered old piano; more wood rained down.

Not stopping, the woman kicked over the table, forming something of a barricade. Those demons too stupid or too far into their attack to change their course smashed headfirst into the polished wooden surface. The table, like the bar stand and the piano, was not really meant to withstand that kind of pressure; it splintered and cracked neatly down the middle.

By that time, the woman had already jumped back, opening up a space between her and the demons; however, demons are, by and large, renowned for being very fast. The woman found herself retreating more and more, dodging and shooting in something like a macabre dance.

The man was faring slightly better; for one thing, his peripheral position meant that less demons had gone for him. Those that had were receiving pointed lessons in the value of caution; the floor was an inch deep in dark, viscous blood. Risking a glance at his companion, he immediately saw she was being hard pressed by the onslaught of demons. Well, that was never good.

"Maria!" he called to get her attention. Then, all the while keeping up a steady hail of bullets in the demons' direction, he threw one gun up in the air, plunged one hand into his coat pocket and drew out a glowing blue sphere. This he threw, and his partner, already aware of his plan, raised one gun and fired it. The bullet didn't hit any of the demons. But it hadn't been meant to, anyway.

Instead it shattered the glowing blue orb, spraying droplets of holy water like a sprinkler - only with much more force. The demons that got hit by the drops of holy water - this was most of them - immediately forsook any plans of attack in favor of collapsing and writhing on the floor. Not a few of them dissolved into puddles of blood then and there.

The woman's blonde hair, now damp with sweat and holy water (not the most pleasant of combinations, she noticed), clung to the back of her neck. She breathed a deep sigh of relief. Then, frowning, she looked down at one of the surviving demons. It was clawing ineffectually at one of her boots, unable to raise itself off the floor. With remarkable sang-froid, she kicked it away, and shot it in the head. The demon stopped clawing.

The man, meanwhile, occupied himself with the task of disposing of the surviving demons. Soon, the bar was silent again.

"Not bad for a day's work," the man said. He glanced around the bar. It wasn't a pretty sight by any stretch of the imagination: for starters, there was blood everywhere. On the walls, dripping from the ceiling- the floor itself was hardly visible anymore. There was also barely a stick of furniture that hadn't been smashed by either them or the demons. All in all, it looked like the site of a particularly sadistic massacre.

Only then did the two notice a third person.

It was the fair-haired man; he sported a long red coat and his face was largely obscured by a cowboy-style hat. He leant nonchalantly against the rim of an upturned table; one hand rested on the hilt of an enormous broadsword which stood point down. The blood coating the blade provided a fairly reliable testament to what the man had been doing all the while. As the two tightened their grips on their respective guns, the man slowly raised one arm...

... And shook off a couple droplets of blood and water.

"Thanks for all the help," the first man said drily.

"You had it covered," was the response. "I would've helped more if things'd gotten serious." Then the man pushed off the table and passed the two.

"Besides," he added, "I've got funner things to do tonight. Bigger fish to fry and all that." He flashed them a cocky grin from underneath the brim of his hat. Then he turned and exited the bar.

The woman made a sound of disgust. "Seriously, did you hear that guy?" she said. "'Bigger fish to fry' - who does he think he is?"

"Couldn't say for sure who _he_ thinks he is, but I do know who _I_ think he is," the man responded. He sounded ever so slightly... awed?

"Well?" the woman crossed her arms. The man glanced at her, then shook his head.

"Never mind," he said. "I'll tell you later. Over a drink."

"Amen to_ that_."

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...

I really had no idea how to finish this fic. Ah well, I think it's good enough considering it's just a little oneshot. I'd really love to know everyone's thoughts on how I write action scenes, though. Too much? Not enough? Completely boring? Anyways, 'till next.


End file.
